Written for Roy/Ed Week 2017: Day 3- The War was in Color.
AN: Just a small token.
He had always told him that the war was in color: orange for the fires that burned; red for the blood seeping through the ground; yellow for the bile in his throat; white for the stillness of the dead; crimson for the lives that he took.
He had listened, soothed the nightmares away with his touch and whispers. He should have known that he would try to spare him. He never wanted him to have to face that form of brutality. He had wanted to protect him.
Look at where it got him...
He was standing here, dressed in black, staring blankly at the cold hard ground. The only man he ever loved, returning to the Earth. Was it raining?
Yet, all he can see is the scarlet of his lover's blood pooling around him. The whiteness around his dark eyes transfixed in horror as his killer gave the striking blow. The red haze that surrounded his vision as he donned the royal blue once more.
He had always wanted to protect and serve him. He had made a promise, oh so, long ago. He would fulfill his promise, no matter the cost.
It was time to be—what he should have been all along. He would make sure his dream would become a reality. The war would end, and he would don the crown on his golden head until the day they could meet again.
If I'm found murdered, this story might be the reason.
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